Kisses in Bed
by delminions
Summary: A short (nsfw) H2OVanoss one-shot about the countless kisses between Evan and Jonathan in bed.


_I've decided to take a small break from writing Rule of the Heart just for today and I decided to write a small H2OVanoss one-shot instead (also so I can remind myself how to write smut). I hope you guys enjoy either way! -delmin_

* * *

Every morning when I awoke, my eyes would open to the image of you. You would be there, lying beside me, peacefully asleep, your puffy little cheeks squished gently against the pillow and your plump little pink lips slightly parted. You'd be snoring, softly at times, louder when you have a cold, which is to say, quite a lot. Either way, you'd make the most adorable sounds in your sleep. You'd look incredibly adorable asleep – not to say that you don't look incredibly adorable in every waking moment. You'd look so delicious right there and then, I would feel so compelled to kiss you and nip you on your lips. The only thing that'd stop me is the idea that you'd wake up grumpy from the lack of sleep, or that you'd thrash around thinking that Jason Voorhees really came after you.

When you did wake, though, you would open your eyes ever so sleepily. Those beautiful ocean blue eyes of yours would peek through from underneath those long dark lashes of yours, dazed, confused. Sometimes you wouldn't even know where you are because your dreams were so vivid, you thought you were elsewhere, far away from where you were – under the duvet, in bed with me. Sometimes you'd have a dream so sweet that you'd wake up pouting knowing that it's not real. Sometimes you'd have a dream so terrifying that you'd wake up with tears in your eyes, and I'd have to hold you tight, crooning and coaxing until you stop shivering in fright. Sometimes you'd have a naughty dream, too – those mornings were some of the best, when we'd indulge in each other, feeling each other's skin hot against one another, our lips mashing against one another and our hands and fingers going wherever they could go on each other's bodies, just so you could live out another insanely hot fantasy that you dreamt up just before you woke – not that I have any complaints about that. I'd more than willingly go along to recreate what you dreamt, just like how you do whenever I dream of something we should do in bed.

There were times when you aren't sleeping that you'd just like to lie in bed. You would recline against a pillow or two and watch videos on your phone – how lazy – and you'd giggle and laugh to yourself. Your giggles are always so clown-like, yet so adorable, and you always sound like you're incredibly amused. You'd laugh at any joke, even the worst ones that I make. You'd laugh at just about anything, especially yourself. Some first-timers would say that your laugh is creepy. For me, your laugh has been nothing but contagious. When you laugh, I'd laugh, we'd all laugh with you. Eventually, somewhere along the line, your laugh did more than that. Your laugh began to give me life. I had to hear your laugh, and I'd do everything in my power to hear it. I'd make you laugh just so I can hear it for myself. I don't care how I'd do it, I just wanted to hear you giggle and laugh yourself silly. When I get to watch you laugh, just like how I would whenever you'd lie back lazily in bed to watch videos – our videos – I get treated to the most beautiful sight in the world along with the heavenly sound of your laughter. You'd laugh, and your eyes would become small and squinty, almost looking like cartoonish dark lines on your face. You'd be so absorbed in what made you laugh, you wouldn't even care about how you looked like. You probably wouldn't even see me when I would slide up to you just as you'd laugh yourself to tears, and take the opportunity to kiss you full on the lips. You'd have a shock, then. Your body would freeze up in my arms, your eyes would be adorably wide open. You'd close your eyes after a while and kiss me back smoothly, and your body would start pressing itself against mine. You'd probably drop your phone again because I kissed you, but you wouldn't care.

Sometimes I'd be the lazy one. I'd lie in bed and listen to whatever music I was into at that time. I probably would have my eyes closed, and I'd be so relaxed I wouldn't even know if I was sleeping. I'd just be immersed in the world of music, not thinking about anything at all. You'd give me something to think about. You'd crawl into bed with me and snuggle yourself in my arms, no matter what position I'd be lying in. Whenever I lay on my side, you'd lift an arm gently and squeeze yourself into my arms. You'd then make little noises to make me hold you tighter. You'd press your body against mine, warm and soft. You'd always say I was the warmest snowman you'd ever cuddled, but your body always felt warmer than mine. Sometimes, in the colder parts of the year, your little fingers and toes would be like tiny little ice cubes against my body. You'd warm them against me, and you'd sigh in satisfaction, the cutest little sigh I'd ever hear. In either case, you'd be a little warm ball in my arms. You'd smell like heaven, and I'd bury my nose in the back of your head and your neck, taking in every bit of your warm husky scent. The music would cease to matter – I wouldn't even know what song was playing any more – because all I'd be taking in was you. The smell of you, the softness of your hair, the tightness of your body against mine. Suddenly I wouldn't feel so lazy anymore. I'd want to hold you tighter. I'd want to kiss you, and I would. I'd flip you around and take your lips right there and then. You'd kiss back passionately, until the both of us got either too breathless or too heated to be content with simply kissing each other or both.

There were other times when you'd be in bed. Every once in a while you'd fall sick. No surprise what with all the screaming you'd get into while you play. You'd be too tired to function, too incoherent to make sense, too delirious to even speak. It'd hurt to see your playful side, your childlike spark get rubbed out because of your illness and get replaced by a grumpy man acting older than his own age, when usually he'd act way younger. I'd really have loved to hold you all day and comfort you, but I'd always have things I'd need to get done. All I would and could do would be to rummage through the medicine cabinet for a cure, and make you some food that you can swallow. I'd feed you and spoon the food into your mouth whilst you lay back and sniffled and complained about how you couldn't smell or taste how delicious it might've been. I'd clean up the messes you made without a complaint, knowing you felt more miserable than I was. I'd transfer whatever files I had to edit into a laptop and settle into bed with you, giving you warmth and holding you whenever I could. Sometimes I'd try to kiss you. You'd try to stop me and complain about how I'd catch whatever you had from you, but I'd still manage to steal a few kisses anyway. It didn't matter if I got sick – I got to kiss the love of my life. You'd complain incessantly and become worried for me, but I wouldn't take you seriously, not with that shit-eating grin on your face that spelled out how much you loved the kisses, and more so, how much you loved me.

You'd return the favors whenever I would be in bed with a hangover, anyway. I'd go out on a company event or a function, and I'd come back dead drunk, throwing up in the nearest sink or the nearest toilet that I could find, and if I couldn't, I'd throw up on myself. You wouldn't complain. You'd just clean it all up and try to get me out of my soiled clothes. You'd wash me the best you could, propping me up with whatever strength you had left after a long day, and you'd gently rinse my body with warm water and sponge my body down with soap. You'd do all that. You'd have a towel all warm and ready in the dryer for me and you'd dry me up perfectly before you'd dress me in my pajamas and send me to bed. You'd softly coax me to sleep then, and tuck me in as if I was a spoilt little boy – which, to admit, I would have been being. You'd then go back to whatever you were doing at the time: playing with Luke, or by yourself, or with whoever would join you in your shenanigans, or even simply editing and rendering a video. You'd do that while I slept the alcohol off, but you'd always have some painkillers, some water and coffee ready in the coffee pot when I awoke with a splitting headache from the resulting hangover. And whenever I'd complain about how something was too bright or too loud, you'd turn it down for me. You'd kiss me gently on the lips, then, and tease me about whatever I'd said or whatever I'd done while I was dead drunk. You'd sometimes fabricate funny stories about how I tried to make a move on you while I was in my stupor. I wouldn't believe it, anyway, I make up stories all the time to you. But your descriptions of what I did to you in your little stories would make me want you more than anything. I'd grab you, then, and kiss you roughly, ready to live out a fantasy that was just beginning to form in my head. I'd let the area below the waist decide what I wanted to do to you, and you'd let me.

But nothing could ever top the heated kisses we'd share whenever we got deep into the mood. When whatever fabric separated us slipped away underneath our fingertips and we'd shudder ever so slightly in ecstasy at the slightest touch of our skin, and when our breaths came out in small whimpers and moans as our toes curled and dug into the bedsheets. It was then that our kisses were the most perfect. Your mouth would be hot against mine, and I would ease your lips apart so I could feel you, hot and wet. Your tongue would mingle with mine, and we'd wrap each other with our own warmth. You would taste perfect, as usual with every other kiss that we would share. In the midst of the rhythmic dance that our tongues would engage themselves in, I would feel your nose against mine, trying its best to take in air. I'd release you then, just for a bit, just so we could catch our breath. Your cheeks would be flushed in a beautiful shade of bright red, then, and I would seek to make that blush last even longer. I'd push my hip against yours gently, grinding against you and watching as you hardened even further under my encouragement. A few drops of clear fluid would probably also bubble at the tip, and I'd know you wanted me more than anything. I'd bend down and kiss you hard once more, until your lips were all red and puffy and probably slightly swollen from all the nipping and chewing. Our lips would keep meeting until none of us could take it any longer – I'd have my length perched at the entrance, threatening to enter, and you'd be a groaning mess underneath me, begging me to take you to heaven with me.

I wouldn't let you have your way that easily. I'd make you beg more. I'd lower my head to your waist and kiss away at every bit of your skin on your loins. I'd drive you crazy with my lips wherever it's so close to where you want it. You'd cry out my name, almost painfully, and your hands would shoot up in a futile attempt to grab my head. You'd only have enough strength then for your fingers to simply run through my hair. You'd give up and lie back and moan silently for the longest time, before I decide to spare you. I'd trace my lips up your length. You'd be dead stiff at that point, and the tip would be glistening with sheer desire. I'd take you in my mouth, slow and hard, and I'd peek up to see you go absolutely insane. I'd trace my tongue all over, lingering at the tip, just so I could hear the little pants that would escape your lips whenever I hit that sensitive spot. I'd continue with the torture, until you cry out for me to stop. You'd return the favor eagerly, but you wouldn't have the patience to take it as slowly as I did. You'd bring your mouth down upon me feverishly, hastily. I'd complain, but I liked it that way. I'd be in too much pleasure, too much joy to complain about getting something I liked from the person I loved. You'd keep at it until I was close, so close to the gates of heaven. You'd deny me the entry to paradise – and I'd be fine with that. I'd have wanted you to stop, either way. I wouldn't have things end before they had even started.

I'd give you another kiss, this time rushed and eager. We'd position ourselves, familiarity falling in place. I would enter you this time, pushing deep within, and you would thrash and groan and moan all the way until I was fully inside. I would pause for a split second, wanting to use the wait to tease you, but you'd end up teasing me instead. You'd place your hands on my cheeks and bring me down in another heated kiss. You would bite on my lips gently, and kiss your way down to my neck, sucking on the skin hard enough that I'd have a bruise that would last for days. That would be more than enough encouragement. I'd begin thrusting, pushing further into you and you'd call my name for the umpteenth time that night. I'd feel all of you, inside and out, and you'd buck your hips in an attempt to let me have more of you. In between every now and then, I would plant kisses down on your lips just as you moan a little too loud. I'd calmly tell you then, just as my lips were pressed to yours, about how lewd you sounded. I'd watch as your cheeks turned an incredible shade of red from my little comment – such a perfect chance for me to kiss you again.

Not long after you'll make the hottest sounds to ever grace my ears. You'd bit your lower lip and you'd moan so loudly that your voice would echo throughout the room. Those beautiful ocean blues of yours would be clouded over with an intense, sensual haze, and I'd know that I've hit the right spot. Your hands would shoot up towards your length, a need for release. You'd tighten around me. You'd cry out my name louder than ever. You'd pout ever so slightly, that beautiful expression always yelling out how much you wanted me – good, because I wanted you too. I'd hold you tighter then, and hit that spot inside you harder. I would watch you unravel and come apart as you hit your peak, your member twitching furiously and your seed spilling, and you pulsing and tightening around me. I'd hit my high and release it all within you, and I would finally slow. You would peer at me through glassy, satisfied eyes, desire sated, speaking silently all the words I needed to hear in the moment. You'd tell me how much you love me without even using your adorable voice. I would release myself from you, giving you a small peck on the lips just to hold you together whilst I got a warm wet towel from the bathroom to clean us both up. You'd whine when I take just a little too long to prepare the towel. I wouldn't mind. I'd do it just to tease you. You'd be there waiting for me in bed, and when I re-enter the room, you'd look at me as though I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

We'd both clean up, wiping ourselves down. I would get into bed as quickly as I could, not just because you'd complain that you were cold and that you wanted me to hold you, but because _I_ wanted to hold you close. Our bodies would mesh together once again, this time in the comfort of being loved. We'd share a few kisses, warm and tender. You wouldn't know, but I'd secretly peek through my lashes every once in a while to see exactly how you looked like when you kissed me. Your eyes would always be closed, so peaceful, so beautiful. I would hold you tighter, fingers tangling themselves in your soft dark hair. I could probably speak and tell you how much I loved you, but I think every kiss along the way, especially the kisses we shared in bed, spoke a world of words that neither me nor you could speak.


End file.
